Blood Stained Words
by Seniya
Summary: There is no time for the worries of the inexperienced. Youth carries no meaning here years pass by on chariots carved by the breeze, desperation acting as the steeds. [Zutara] ONE SHOTS.
1. Linger

**Linger**

**By Seniya**

There are times like these when the night seems to hang stagnant about them both, like a damp velvet curtain…confining…suffocating…smothering. They've learnt to ignore it. When the stars in the sky only seem to hiss in rage, never humming, only screaming a crude version of a lullaby, far too lovely a song to be sung by human lips, even with the grim lyrics…bittersweet lament.

And of course, when the moon looks upon them merely to turn away, refusing to bathe their bodies in her ethereal glow, she banishes her light elsewhere, and she leaves them both to the good humor of the dark...sweet suffering.

But these are the times that he cherishes most. When the violence around them has ceased, (silent _now_, if only for a mere moment); when the shuddering in her body has faded, both from the tears and him. The times when she's just curled up against him in that fragile ball, with her chestnut tresses tumbling across his naked chest like a silken river.

And then his heart trembles to think of her, and of their future, because tomorrow is creeping upon them both with each passing second, and he doesn't know if he'll ever have her near him again.

People die in wars.

After all.

And he's scared: terrified really, a deep, gruesome fear, part anger, part uncertainty, all consuming. Fear of loosing her, anger because he's let her get so close, fear of loosing himself so that she'd have to move through this life without him by her side, and anger at the anonymous future man whose arms she might find solace in.

And it's then that he knows that he wants her again; to hear the gasp of his name as he lures it from her parted lips; to gaze upon the flush on her face and her neck; to feel her warmth and her softness; to know that she is _his_ and no one else's.

But he won't…because she's tired; tired from the tears; from the fights; from the fact that he's made love to her as though he were starving for her body. So he'll let her rest, for he isn't _that _selfish.

And she sort of shifts against him, and he only tightens his grip about her waist, and she sighs as he watches her face relax, as he listens as her breathing slows.

He can't sleep…rather, he won't. Not tonight when his dreams would never be able to compare to the reality. Tomorrow night, alone on the battlefield, then he would dream…of this. Of the touch; of the gooseflesh under his palms when he first kissed her trembling lips. Of the taste; the sleepy glide of her lips when she opened to grant him welcome. Of her aroma: something subtle, sweet and lingering.

He wants to remember her smell most of all, so he tries to burn it into his memory, while his mind jeers that it will only lighten with the sunrise and he will be left with nothing.

He ignores that as well. For time is far too precious to waste it with doubts and fears; to destroy this moment with words and foolish thoughts when all he wants to do is to feel and to remember.

Soon, he tells himself, soon he'll tell her everything. He'll explain to her just what she does to him…how she makes his pulse quicken and his thoughts blur—how she steals all of his reasoning and leaves him weakened.

He thinks that she already knows sometimes, only sometimes, for she isn't arrogant enough to brag about it. The fact that she's gentled the Fire Prince. That he's hers more than she is his and that he's far too besotted to care.

* * *

He's never rough with her, and that's surprising because she always imagined that he'd be violent and unpredictable. Yet he isn't. And sometimes the way he runs his hands along her face makes her think that he's even tender. Sometimes, the way he looks at her, at that exact moment when they're both drowning in that pool of white-hot sensation, it makes her believe in wonderful things…things like love and happiness…things like forever, because she's certain that she can see those things underneath his golden eyes.

Sometimes she wonders if he thinks that it's pathetic the way that she submits to him—falling down, finding salvation in the cocoon of his arms; dying just as he whispers her name against her neck.

And sometimes she can't bear it, just how quickly everything ends…and then she's forced to reawaken and made to remember that there is a war and it dawns tomorrow, and he might never be able to hold her again. And reality tears away at the trappings of her fantasy, leaving naught but ribbons that aren't even big enough to hold the pieces of her broken heart together.

So she always closes her eyes when it's over, because in her mind, in that darkness she can have happiness. And he always believes that she's asleep, and then there's sadness all around them and she just wants him to kiss her again because they could both already be dead.

And soon the sun will chase away the darkness, a savior to some; a slave master to too many. And tomorrow he will leave her side, still believing that she's asleep, and he'll brush a kiss against her forehead and whisper promises into her hair. And he'll touch her, run his finger along her cheekbone just because he wants to remember how soft she is, and then he'll leave.

And Katara will weep. She'll cry until her throat is raw and her head is throbbing, she'll scream curses at the sun and the Gods alike for taking him away from her. Because she's scared; she's terrified of being alone because she's grown accustomed to having him holding her and her body is merely a soulless shell without him to breathe life into it.

But tomorrow hasn't come yet, and it's still tonight, and she draws still nearer to his warmth, grateful, unbelievably grateful for the echo of his beating heart.

**FIN**

**

* * *

****Author:** Well, it's my first Zutara, and it was written in less than two hours when I had a fever…so if you don't think it's very good or as good as my others, don't flame me, I'm very sensitive. I hope you did enjoy though. I also posted this (or a less edited version of it) on the Zutara community on livejournal. 

**Disclaimer:** I disclaim.


	2. I Am Who I Am

**I Am Who I Am**

**By Seniya**

I am not that weak.

_I am who I am; I like a wine can flow through your body and intoxicate your senses._

Her eyes are like the skies…not only in their color but in their sheer depth and the expanse of all that she holds there. A thousand emotions at any given second, ranging from pity to pride…I could allow myself to be lost in those eyes.

But I won't.

Because even though she has manufactured pride so that it shows in her soul; I have the eternal pride of a nation carved into every inch of my being.

And I refuse to want her.

I can't dare to want **her**.

_I laugh at you fools…can't you hear my voice? Well, then look…look at what I can do to you…_

I try in vain to make myself ignorant of the way that her curves would feel beneath my palms. How her body would shudder at my touch, how she'd whisper my name against my burning lips…both a plea and her way of thanking me. Yes, gratitude would be necessary from the peasant, she should be filled with thank-yous because I had chosen to lower myself to her level…pathetic.

I am not pathetic.

_Watch me._

Her hair would be like silk…a river of muddy silk that curls and flows around my fingers drowning my hands in the mere sensation of it, drenching my psyche in its flowery aroma. Her skin, the flesh on her neck would be impossibly soft…and she'd beg me to lavish my attention on it…yes, she'd beg, not me…I never beg.

_Say my name._

I'd never comply, because doing as she asked would be a sign of weakness. And I, Zuko, Prince of The Fire Nation am not weak.

And so the fantasy crashes down about me, it has failed to survive its collision with reality…and its all with such suddenness that I find myself reeling. Half awake in my sleeping bag with no intention of welcoming the tiredness that is knocking at my mind's door.

And I'm drowning again, this time in anger and self hatred. Because I can't bear to acknowledge the fact that I spend all of this time thinking about _that girl_…that lowly water tribe girl…who by all means, isn't worth my time.

She isn't so beautiful; I tell myself, I'd seen a thousand girls…no **ten** thousand girls who would pale her in comparison.

I don't want her. I don't care.

_Call me to you, release those fears…they can't stop me, so why are you holding on?_

But those eyes…those blasted eyes call me like a siren's song, and I'm following…listening to the wordless melody and humming along—I've never seen eyes like hers.

_Watch me._

I hate myself for this weakness. I swear to the sun itself that I am not this weak. I hate myself for who I am…who I've been made to be.

And now I'm disgusted…because I'm thinking it, I'm actually entertaining the thought…the wish, of how things could be if I wasn't Zuko Prince of The Fire Nation, if I wasn't so proud and strong…and if there weren't at least ten thousand girls who were more attractive than her…if maybe, I could convince her to look at me with something other than pride in her eyes.

Something—softer; richer; deeper.

So that I could drown in her eyes instead…

_Don't fight me…stop it…I swear that you won't win._

I don't care for the shape of her body…or the feel of hair wound between my fingers. It wouldn't matter if she never let me touch her at all, if only she'd look at me…then maybe…my heart would race, much like its doing now…and she'd smile—she'd smile at me, and all salvation would be daubed across her face, and all I'd have to do was look…and I could be saved.

And I wouldn't have to care about this…haunting arrogance that even now is raining damnation onto my brief happiness.

_You need me…you want me…soon you'll come find me._

It's foolish to think that way. And I am not a fool. I was born Zuko Prince of The Fire Nation and that is how I will die.

That is what I want.

And no peasant, no lowly girl…no matter how pretty her eyes are, will make me wish that it is any another way.

_Remember me…I knew that you'd return._

And the walls are up again, they're darker and colder than I recall, but the familiarity that paints them is still as taunting as ever. And I surprise myself by letting my eyes drift shut, and then once more by allowing the ignorance to take over.

And that fantasy washes over me…and I'm gone again.

_Watch me._

I can already hear the way that she would gasp when I ran my hands over her stomach…she would arch her back and cry out…but I'd remain silent. She could never have such an effect on me, I am not that weak.

**The End**

**Author:** Well, the last time I had a fever, but now I have no excuse. So I'll take the full blunt of your criticism. The last time you were all very nice, so fingers crossed, because I'm hoping that you like this too. The speaker in the italics is supposed to be either lust or pride personified. Depends on who you wanna take it as, but originally, the title was meant to be 'Lust'.

I'm doing this series of drabble-esque one shots for your amusement. Enjoy yourselves.


	3. Everyone Likes Cake

**Everyone Likes Cake**

**By Seniya**

* * *

Now look, I tell you this is the strictest confidence—oh, you like that don't you? No, I didn't _do_ anything, and _no_, I'm not hiding. What would make you think that I—well, look if you're not going to believe me then why did you bother to ask?

All right. Good. You see it's all very simple…Katara is…making me…a…cake.

Well say something! Aren't you supposed to be filled with advice old man? Don't look at me like that! _Why am I hiding in here?_ First of all, I have already told you that I am not hiding, I do not _hide_…I merely found the need to visit the…music room and…look, you know as well as I do that she can't cook!

Baking, cooking, it's all the same! She's inept! Remember what I told you, this doesn't leave the room.

Good, good, as long as you understand. At first I thought that she was just bad with that rubber and grease that those water tribe people ingest, I certainly don't understand why the all haven't dropped dead of…what I mean is, grease and fat can only taste _so_ good—never mind, I'm not overreacting!

Stop interrupting me; I'm getting to that part. Do you, do you remember last month when she made turtle duck stew? Yes, I can tell by the look on your face that you do, she took out the parliament with that concoction…

And then, for my last birthday when she made fudge—you couldn't swallow it; I mean you tried and you tried, but it just clung to your throat and…

…and now she's making cake! After I specifically told the cooks not to let her near the kitchens—do you, yes, yes that's it! A conspiracy! Treason all of them, they're going to let me wife do me in with her…culinary…

Stop laughing it's not funny! This is serious! I'm sick of telling you that I am not hiding! I am here to think out a plan of…survival.

How do I know what she's doing? What do you think that stench is? The sewers, oh you'd better pray that it's the sewers—no it's _chocolate cake_. I've survived exile and wars and I'm about to see my death because of cake.

Tell her? And exactly how will that conversation go Uncle? _Oh, hello Katara, you look nice today, oh and by the way, your cooking possesses the potential to slaughter even the strongest man_—then I'd be dead for an entirely different reason.

I could…I could…no, _you could_ eat it for me. Yes, we'll have it in the Dining Room, and when she's looking away I'll _slide_ it over to you…hey, where are you going?

Coward! What kind of man are you! Afraid of cake—you tried to take Ba Sing Se didn't you, this can't be any worse!

Oh, I'll deal with it all right! It was in the vows after all, for better or worse—and don't you dare tell her! Would you stop laughing! I am not hiding! I'll leave right now…I'll go right up there and…and...

…so what if I'm hiding.

* * *

**Author:** God help me because when I heard about this, all I could think of was smex. I tried to control myself…so no smut. I can't recall if in the Avatar series I ever saw Katara cook, but I thought that it was a cute quirk so go with me on this one.

I wrote it in about thirty minutes, so maybe it's not as good as some of my previous works, although I hope it's funny.


	4. He Who Lies With Dogs

**He Who Lies With Dogs…**

**By Seniya**

His fingers tremble, his breath has stilled completely now, captured in that prison that lies like a dark fortress beside his heart. Inside he is swelling, so full, unimaginably filled to the point of overflowing with sheer emotion, a feeling that calls upon the euphoria of happiness, yet reminisces upon the ache of sorrow.

The thin silk strands of her dress graze his hands, the heat from her skin scorches his—calling to him like the siren's song; inhibitions fade with the shadows, and he falls, deeper into her.

His hands graze her shoulders, she shivers when she feels the heat from his hands, from his breath. The heat travels lower, over her arms, finally surrounding her wrists, then her stomach. Lips touch her neck; she gasps, he whispers, "I've missed you."

Her eyes fall shut, and she melts, surrenders into his body; screaming without words all that she thinks and feels. There is no space within this web of desire and longing for doubts and fears, the stories of sleepless nights and restless days cannot touch all that is imagined here. Far too delicate is all that bonds them, such worries; such confusion would surely tear them apart.

His hands drift once again, moving slowly beneath the folds of her dress, through the frail strings of her gown that he has yet to untangle. They crisscross and maneuver before him, offering him resistance, vainly attempting to mute her submission. He tears at them now, clutching those accursed barriers, tearing them down, feeling with mute satisfaction, absolute vindication, another battle—regardless of how small perhaps, insignificant? No, not really—has been won.

The heavy silk falls away, brushing against her breasts, pooling at her hips before he pushes it further, to her feet. She is naked now, without any of the trappings and jewels that cover her during the day, naked and vulnerable beneath his hands and eyes. She shivers once more.

His lips touch the shell of her ear; his tongue caresses the curves, chilling her, despite his warmth. She is cold, freezing, shaking—she grows impatient now, it has been weeks since she's last seen him, touched him, loved him. And there is a desperation that grows rapidly within her, feeding on her fears for the morrow.

"Have you missed me?" His voice comes to her from a great distance, and suddenly she cannot bear the space. The massive gap that seems to have invaded each infinitesimal and insignificant crevice in between them— explodes her patience—shatters her pride.

"Touch me Zuko," she breathes, and he stills, his heart now drumming painfully within his chest. Through the darkness she reaches for his hands, those same nervous, shaking fingers, and she kisses them with an incredible tenderness. "I need to feel you."

"Katara," her name crawls over the mountains of his lips, rumpling the dark curls that cascade along her back. He is burning as she freezes, a victim to the incessant fire…the need, pure desire, and yet—there is hesitation, for although he fears the morrow as she does, his need to savor her overwhelms all else.

Sensing his reluctance, moving due to his hesitation, she turns in his arms, wrapping her hands about his neck, she forces her trembling lips apart, as does he, gold drowns in blue, cerulean burns with amber. And they both cease to even breathe, fearful of the end, only concerned for the moment, the shared comfort of the other's touch.

His palms move downwards, over the expanse of smooth mocha skin, pausing at her hips, at the slight swell of her bottom, that even in his mist infused mind seems rounder, fuller somehow. He breaks the kiss.

Within the haunting blues of her eyes, eyes that sing with the moonrise, eyes that hold him captive—he searches, the truth, he knows his held within those sky blue depths—and for the first time he sees, he learns what she has neglected to tell him, it is there, as clear as the light of day behind the distorted reflection of himself. And slowly his heart falls apart, the words that come from his mouth are spoken only by his lonely soul, "Katara," wonder, pure wonder, "you…and I have…"

"Don't…" her eyes are drowning in a sea of tears, her throat closes and soon it is all that she can do to whisper, "just tonight Zuko. It's all I want from you."

"You're leaving. If you're…then you can't, I-I…" his voice falters, it falls and it rises, it trembles as his hands do, but he stumbles on, "won't let you leave me…"

The politics of their union have never wavered in making the decision to follow them both into that scared place where only lovers should venture—it has never once hesitated to scream its disgust and rage into their deaf ears, only now, for once, they listen to the lyrics of this song.

"You can't…you can't tell me what to do. It's my child as well, and my child cannot live in the Fire Nation." His hands no longer touch her warm flesh, now, without the gentle tease of his caresses she finds that she is colder than ever before.

She has begun to pull away, he watches, transfixed as she curves and bends, as she hurriedly replaces her heavy gown…his hands no longer tremble, his voice no longer struggles. "If you leave…if you take my child away from me…I will find you."

She pauses then, her hands working behind her, skillfully redoing the knots and complexities that rule over a woman's dress, her eyes stare, dark, empty… "You've never been able to catch me before. What makes you think that it will change now?"

She leaves then, disappearing into the night, befriending the shadows and the darkness that even now mock him. The emptiness has returned, his soul has returned to its hiding place so that even he isn't so certain of its location now, even less, of its existence.

**FIN**

**Author:** Well I was gonna do some smut/sex but it turned into this, so I guess that the ultra hot smex will come some other time. Comments are always appreciated.


	5. Quotations

**Quotations**

**By Seniya**

* * *

**  
The Blind Leading The Blind**

There is no time for the worries of the inexperienced. Youth carries no meaning here; years pass by on chariots carved by the breeze, desperation acting as the steeds. She has come to him through her fears and panic, for when all the world is in drowning death—one would do anything to feel alive.

It is she who urges his tentative kisses and caresses onwards, her voice is what he seeks out in the darkness. They both know precious little of what is to transpire—the fumbling fingers and trembling arms are testament to that…they only know of what they need…a rainbow of sensation, a shelter from the dark torrent.

**A Little Knowledge Is A Dangerous Thing**

It is a strange, truly astonishing sensation, being tied completely, mind, body and soul, to another human being. This union is what breaks sown the shields of self preservation; it is what exorcises the demons of loneliness that plague a tender heart. It is here, in this tangle of arms, mouths and hearts that words, feelings are borne—dangerous things feelings are, especially in a war.

Not when every breath is a reason for thanks, not when every footfall puts one at risk for decapitation—no, silent remain these feelings, locked within the depths of their hearts, now both not so lonely due to this piece of information.

**If Wishes Were Horses Then Beggars Would Ride**

In the slumberous darkness that follows, she wraps her form casually in the torn robes of his nation and draws closer to his warmth. He is already asleep, she thinks to herself, and so she allows herself to become bold, fueled by the curiosity lying dormant in the dusk.

Her fingers trace his profile, his straight nose, much thinner than her own, the angular face and pale skin, so very different from her own rounder face and mocha skin…the contrasts do somehow find a way to upset the quiet euphoria that had been warming her body, she pulls herself away, thinking herself foolish for even ever considering that they might…that he could…

**The Road To Hell Is Paved With Good Intentions**

The dawn arrives too quickly, caking them both in the soft glow of the morning, drenching them both in the waters of molten suffering that their lives have so rapidly become. He looks at her, once, twice—perhaps more, but doesn't dare to speak; his soul is too full now, if he parts his lips, then, surely, he might burst.

She sees him looking, twice, three times…maybe less, but doesn't dare to comment, it pains her too much to think, to dream, for despite her mind's decision that it was only for a night, one night…her heart has already considered forever…and she knows that she must deny it.

It is the silence that hurts them both, two people so obsessed with their own self preservation that they allow themselves to die at the hands of peace…

**Absence makes the heart grow fonder**

Regret calls only to those souls lonely enough to request its company, many a widow knock upon his door, hands bare, heads covered, eyes drowning beneath the liquid sadness that tortures them—_he_ is not there to aid them, rather, it is he who causes them greater suffering, memories of the things that one could have said, could have done, should, would, if only, _if only…_

Katara watches the graceful descent of the setting sun, arms like wildfire move through the jealous winds to surround her, the loneliness does not leave with the sun's embrace. Rather, it intensifies, his name falls from her lips in a whisper of recognition, of longing…she knows it now, she's left a piece of herself behind—and what would she do to have it back…

**A little bird told me**

The war brings tales of sacrifice and bravery, of heroism unparalleled by the Gods themselves, of boys made men, of soldiers made immortals, if only through whispers of a frightened people.

Sokka watches his sister, and whispers of another kind flood his mind, there is no privacy left in the world…he knows, she knows—and they can all see it, she is changing. He feels that he must be the last person on earth who observes how her face has changed, how her arms, her legs…no, he's seen enough. Though he watches her still, and her arms wrap around her stomach, protectively? Oh yes, he sees the look the coats her face, the tears that linger for merely a second, then he looks away.

_He'll kill that Fire Nation brat…_

**When it rains it pours**

There are those grateful for the tears of the heavens, a reprieve from even the metaphorical rule of the sun, he, isn't one of them. Water does not carry the redemption that he seeks, merely echoes, songs, lullabies, that tell him only of her—she who took away a large piece of his being three months ago.

Zuko's well aware of the days, the hours, although he hasn't allowed himself the satisfaction of the minutes…he is more alone now than he's ever been, his body yearns for the satisfaction of her touch, her kisses, it burns in fact—and not even the rain can quench it.

**Still waters run deep**

Her eyes are hooded the next time that he sees her, her face darkens in a blush that goes down past the neckline of her thin dress. He is not yet aware of the etiquette that is expected of a man and woman in their situation, much less of the etiquette that is becoming of children, forced into a world such as theirs…

He moves towards her, his heart is racing, his blood scratching at his veins, he looks at her, opens his mouth, but cannot speak…there is nothing to say, nothing that he knows that will convey the pain, or the ache—he does see the sadness in her eyes, the regret that she wears like an emblem on her tattered clothes—he stares as though he could see something else, but she walks away.

* * *

**Author: **A while ago, I decided to try my hand at writing drabbles. You know, real drabbles that are 100 words. I failed miserably, but did do these things. 

I wrote these a while ago in response to a quotations challenge on LJ. I was always supposed to post them here to but I kept forgetting. I hope that you enjoyed them. I'm actually pretty surprised at the response that I'm getting in Zutara land. And if it pleases you I do intend to do a full length Zutara fic once I have some time.


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